


Sweetly, your voice

by LyraLV



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21569701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraLV/pseuds/LyraLV
Summary: Lately, Sans feels like an open book around Grillby, and he doesn’t even know what’s on the pages.
Relationships: Grillby/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 164





	Sweetly, your voice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skerb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skerb/gifts).



> Here's a little (very belated!) bday gift for Skerb, the sweetest, most precious bean around. 
> 
> This fic is inspired by Postcards, though it's not set in that AU. Rather, this is just an idea that circulated from the possibility of Grillby flirting with Sans from even earlier on. Sans is playing the oblivious game (and isn't succeeding LMAO).
> 
> I hope you like it, Skerb! You are a cutie pie, and I love you so very, very much. <3 //smooches

The book makes a solid thunk as Sans drops it on the counter.

Grillby stares dryly at him, his expression somehow even more unimpressed. Sans can tell the bartender is leveling a look at him behind his glasses, and he grins.

“Brought you some reading material,” he says, resting his hand on the book and patting its thick surface.

Grillby’s white eyes narrow as they flick from Sans to the cover and back again.

_“Any particular reason for this book?”_

Sans looks down at it and feigns surprise, his sockets widening even as he places a hand to mouth to hide his grin.

“Oh, my bad,” he says. “Totally forgot you might not be into quantum physics. Don’t worry. There’s a backup inside of here.”

Grillby sets aside the rag that he’s been using to perfunctorily clean the mess of water stains left on the counter. His gaze sweeps the room, and finding it rather quiet, he turns his full attention to Sans. Looks like he’ll spare him a few minutes.

Perfect.

 _“A backup?_ ” he softly asks with notable hesitation layered through his voice. Over the years, Sans has had the privilege of helping refine that tiredly amused tone, gifting Grillby with a series of more bizarre and unexpected jokes and pranks. 

Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately) for him, Sans doesn’t quite have a joke planned this time, though he can’t resist stringing him along just a little.

“Yep,” he says. He tugs open the heavy science book to reveal another book inside, its presence no real secret from the way it had caused the other book to bulge. Sans watches the way Grillby tilts his head to read the title, his flames flickering. His warmth is much more notable with his closeness, and Sans leans forward just the smallest amount to savor the heat that seems to blanket him.

Grillby’s eyes meet his again. He doesn’t bother backing away, and despite the warm atmosphere, Sans feels a shudder run down his back. His face heats a little more under Grillby’s attention.

“... _Moby Dick?”_

Sans nods. He’s almost certain his grin has taken a wide, goofy turn, but he doesn’t care. There’s nowhere he’d rather be right now.

“Call me Ishmael because I’m about to read to you about a whale’s penis.”

Grillby sighs heavily.

_“Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”_

Sans titters. For some reason, he feels light with the continued close proximity of his friend. His soul is pounding.

“Dogeared the page and everything,” he says. “Though something tells me this is a book you’ve got stuffed under your bed for a little late night reading.”

A crackling laugh escapes Grillby as he leans back and sadly takes his warmth with him, though the smile he shares with Sans is a fair compromise. 

_“Certainly not. I detested the book.”_ He pauses, smile fading a little as he tilts his head at Sans. _“Though I have no objection if you wish to read it to me.”_

“Yeah, no, that’s not happening,” Sans says with a laugh. He can’t believe Grillby is actually concerned that he’d offend Sans and his reading habits. The thoughtfulness of his friend softens the smile on his face and eases the tension from his shoulders as he slouches on the counter and twists back and forth on the bar stool, feet lazily swinging.

“I’ve yet to meet a single person who enjoyed it, so I brought something else I think you might enjoy.”

He picks up _Moby Dick_ and rifles through the pages until he lands on yet another book he’d hidden inside that one, tilting both books so that Grillby can’t see the cover. The tip of Grillby’s flames dances as he stares curiously at Sans, the soft snap of fire sounding almost like a question. Sans conceals his grin behind the books and begins to read the first page.

“It was a pleasure to burn. It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and ch—”

A fiery hand reaches over and tugs the books down. Sans doesn’t bother to smother his laughter at the pained look on Grillby’s face, though it’s clear by the way his shoulders lightly bounce that he’s struggling not to chuckle right along with him.

 _“Thank you for the reading session. That’s enough,"_ he says.

“Thought that one might hit closer to home,” Sans says between snickers. Grillby sighs again and shakes his head, but the smile he aims Sans’s way speaks entirely of delight. Sans revels in the warm, happy feeling of his soul that thumps just a little faster. He grins right back.

“You mean to tell me you’re not currently cruising at a cool 451 degrees fahrenheit?”

“... _That was an awful pun. And Fahrenheit 451 is the temperature at which paper burns, not flame elementals.”_

“Aww.” Sans props his cheekbone on his fist and winks. “Here I was hoping my reading would really light a fire within you.” 

He’s not expecting the way Grillby slowly blinks at him, the tips of his flames flashing a pale yellow before a wry smile winds up his face. He seems to recover, and his gaze becomes lidded as he rests his forearms on the counter, quirking an amused brow at Sans.

“ _Perhaps I could be convinced to make things a little more heated for you...old friend_.” His expression turns charming and—if Sans didn’t know any better—flirtatious. It causes Sans to laugh uneasily and glance away. He has a feeling the heat in his face isn’t due just to Grillby’s proximity, and the thought alarms him.

What on earth is happening right now?

 _“Not that I do not appreciate the thought,_ ” Grillby says, voice cutting into his minor dilemma, inquisitive and curious, _“but might I ask what brought this on?”_

Sans stills. He’d anticipated the question. Had even considered what he’d say if Grillby asked him. But as he sneaks a look at his friend and feels his face flushing, he quickly looks away again and leans into the palm at his cheekbone, phalanges spreading to hopefully cover his telltale blush. 

He’s not hiding. This is just...strategic positioning. It doesn’t help that he can catch the reflection of blue on the shiny counter, and it makes him hunch down into the fur of his jacket. 

“Uh,” he says intelligently, “I just...well, you always seem kind of bored when the day gets slow, so I thought— I mean, if it’s cool with you then—”

Sans feels Grillby’s hand rest overtop his own, and he cautiously peers up at him. His friend’s warm smile hasn’t left his face, and the kindness in his eyes encourages Sans to relax. He grins shakily at him.

_“I would be honored, Sans.”_

“Heh,” Sans replies in a very unhelpful way. He’s a little lost under the full force of that smile. He’ll blame it on the alcohol he’s going to drink later. 

Grillby removes his hand. Sans's eyelights dart around the bar, nervous for the first time since arriving. Everyone else is caught up in their own conversations, unlikely to pay Sans any mind as he reads, but the little spark of anxiousness pulses through him. He’s never been one for stagefright, but then again, Grillby is different.

Sans wants to do this right. He clears his nonexistent throat.

“I actually brought a book that I thought you might like.” He briefly meets Grillby’s eyes before glancing away again as he sits upright and scratches the back of his head. “You’ve probably read it before. But it seemed like something you’d might like to hear again, so…”

He reaches into his inventory and pulls out what he had originally intended to read to Grillby. Not like he spent an hour scouring the slim pickings in the Librarby in the hopes of finding the perfect choice. He can feel the sweat beading along his skull as Grillby takes the book in hand and reads the title.

 _“I’m impressed,”_ he says after a long moment.

“Yeah?” Sans isn’t sure if that’s a good sign or not. He nervously wraps both hands around the edge of the counter.

 _“Yes,”_ Grillby says. He stares at the cover for another moment before looking at Sans with pure elation. _“Vanity Fair is one of my favorites. It is a classic I have returned to time and again, and nothing would please me more than to hear you read it to me.”_

“Oh,” Sans says faintly. He’s a little blinded by the sight of such happiness on his friend’s face. His soul continues to beat faster, and Sans does his best to ignore it. “That’s great. Glad I made the right choice.”

 _“An excellent choice,”_ Grillby agrees. He hands the book back to Sans who takes it with only moderately shaky hands. If Grillby notices, he kindly says nothing, instead picking up a rag and resuming his careful treatment of the counter. He’s noticeably slower this time, however, signaling that he is in no rush to hurry through his work. Grillby is probably just trying to look busy to help Sans feel less pressure, for which Sans is greatly relieved. He hasn’t been this nervous in years, and it almost feels like some silly crush.

He freezes at the thought and immediately brushes it off as he thumbs through the pages of the book. The way his soul is acting up must be affecting his head if he’s having thoughts like that. Something to worry about another time by which Sans means he’ll bury the thought as deeply in the recesses of his mind as possible. Not for the first time this day, he feels his face grow hot.

Exhaling long and slow, Sans focuses on the book and flips to the first page.

“ _Would you like something to drink while you read?”_

Mind still reeling from the narrowly dodged bullet of realization as he desperately tries to reorient himself, Sans shrugs and doesn’t even bother thinking about his response. 

“Yeah sure thing, hot stuff.”

Grillby doesn’t say anything, the crackling of his flames spiking, and Sans stares a hole into the blurry pages in front of him as the heat on his cheekbones flares.

“Uh, I’ll just let you pick,” he says faintly.

He hears Grillby move around behind the counter, but Sans refuses to emerge from his shelter behind the book.

He can’t believe he just said that. What’s _wrong_ with him today? And not just today because Sans has noticed this jittery feeling in his soul has been going on for a lot longer lately. It’s driving him insane, and he wishes the damn thing would pipe down so he could think a coherent thought and not worry about repeatedly stuffing his foot in his mouth.

He’s uncertain if Grillby’s silence is better or worse. Sans tries not to dwell on his blunder and clears his false throat once more.

“Want me to do the voices as I read?” he asks, pretending to not hear the tinny note in his own. He chances a look over the top of the book and watches as Grillby works on his drink, facing away from him.

“ _You may do the voices, Sans_ ,” Grillby says, fond amusement clear in his tone. It slightly eases the tension of Sans’s wire-tight spine, and though it’s a bit crooked, he attempts a smile anyways.

He begins to read, and as his anxious soul slowly calms down, the rest of the afternoon reduces to just him, Grillby, and the soft words read between them.

***

He’s not really expecting it to become a thing. Sans sort of figures it would be a one-and-done kind of deal, and just as soon as that thought crosses his mind, he kicks himself for it. He’s not sure why his soul feels like it’s trying to dance out of his rib cage, fluttering not only when he’s at Grillby’s, but also during odd times of the day when the elemental happens to take up space in his daydreaming. It’s something Sans’s noticed occurring with growing frequency.

He’s not sure what to make of it. He’s definitely not sure what to make of Grillby inviting him to continue reading books to him whenever Sans stops by. It’s been about three weeks now. They just finished _Vanity Fair_ , something that took longer than Sans had anticipated because of how often he had to pause in order to let Grillby tend to his customers.

The thing is...he thought he’d read to Grillby just that first day. Just something to help pass the time for his friend. But then, as he’d read the book, he’d looked up at one point and found Grillby just watching him so closely, leaning an elbow on the counter and propping his head on his hand as he listened with sharp intent to Sans’s words. It had left a funny feeling in Sans’s chest, knowing that he was the center of such captivated interest. And then, Grillby’s mouth had quirked up in a smile when their eyes met, just a small little gesture, and Sans had instinctively found himself smiling back, and—

And that’s it. He’s not sure what’s going on, but he does know that whatever funny business his soul is doing, nothing will come of it. Sans prides himself on holding people at arm’s length to ensure he doesn’t land himself in, heh, hot water. Nothing is definitive in this timeline that seems to keep resetting, leaving him staring at his ceiling most mornings and struggling to find a reason to try. He knows his brother has taken notice, and it might be for that reason alone that Sans dons a placid grin and forces himself out of bed. His brother deserves to not be weighed down by Sans’s troubles. They already have so little in the Underground. A little acting is the least Sans can do.

So, he’s not expecting to find rejuvenation in the bar he’s frequented for years, the old stool’s cushion familiar beneath his coccyx. And yet, as Sans slides onto his seat for the thousandth time and waves at Grillby, the fatigue in his body and soul slowly begins to melt away.

Grillby finishes giving a customer their order of food before walking over to Sans. His smile is warmer than the heat his flames radiate. Sans finds himself incapable of stopping his own grin that curves up at the sight of Grillby.

_“And what did you bring me today?”_

He raps his knuckles on the cover. “Little bit of murder mystery, little bit of humor.” Sans twists the book around so that Grillby can read the title.

_“The House of the Seven Gables. Sounds intriguing. I’m sure it will be even more so when read in your voice.”_

The flush instantly flares across Sans’s face. That’s another recurrence he’s unfortunately growing used to. Sans is unable to speak as Grillby smiles down at him, though there seems to be a hint of smugness in his smile. Places a drink on the counter in front of Sans, Grillby lingers, his sly expression filling Sans’s vision as he leans in close.

 _“Whenever your're ready, Sans," he_ says. A soft chuckle follows the words. 

Yeah. Definitely smug.

Sans swallows around his suddenly dry throat and attempts to regroup. Despite the teasing, Sans feels shyly content as he flips to the first chapter and begins to read. Knowing that his favorite bartender enjoys Sans reading to him makes his soul do that weird, little jump behind his ribs.

It’s starting to feel like a reaction that’s reserved only for Grillby. 

***

The third book isn’t begun in the bar. In fact, the bar is closed early one morning due to a sudden illness that overtakes Grillby. Many of the frequent customers express their condolences and send well wishes to the elemental, saying Snowdin won’t be the same without Grillby’s cheerful glow. The compassion warms Grillby to the core, but he certainly doesn’t miss the absence of someone’s own sympathetic words amongst the others.

Not that Grillby expects Sans to drop everything just to say much of the same. There’s no entitlement that Grillby feels when it comes to his good friend. But...he would be lying if he claimed to not miss hearing from Sans when the weight of his sickness forces Grillby to lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling in a restless daze. 

He misses him. It’s not even a question in his mind. 

Lost in the haze of fever and his thoughts, he doesn’t hear the knocking until it’s adopted a repetitive manner to the beat of some tune. Grillby frowns, wondering who would have need to visit him when the news of his sickly state has surely spread. His head throbs as he sits up, slowly placing one foot then the other on the floor. Once he’s conquered the task of standing, Grillby slowly makes the journey to the front door, blanket pulled taut around his shoulders. Even he finds the sound of his wheezy breathing painful.

The sight on the other side of the door brings a swell of joy and relief. Sans stares at him with a bit of a sheepish grin, a book clutched in one hand and a container in the other. A scent wafts from it that makes Grillby’s mouth water.

“Heard you weren’t feeling so great, bud,” Sans says. He gives the container of food a subtle shake. “Papyrus wanted to make you a little something to in case you weren’t up to cooking for yourself. So, we, uh, made pot roast together.”

Sans nudges it towards him, and Grillby gently wraps his hands around the container. His soul feels overfull.

“Hope you like it. It’s got vegetables.”

He smiles gratefully. _"T_ _hank you, Sans. I am sure I will love it. You and your brother have my deepest gratitude.”_

“Heh.”

There it is again. That charming bashfulness that creates an entirely new warmth inside of Grillby. He can’t help but admire the slight tinge on Sans’s cheekbones. Truly, no other shade of blue is more lovely than the hue on his face. A part of Grillby wishes he could say as much without worrying he’d embarrass his friend too greatly.

“Just wanted to help speed along your recovery.” Sans shifts his feet in the snow, and Grillby is suddenly reminded that the poor skeleton is standing out in the cold. He steps aside and quickly ushers Sans in, closing the door behind them to block the flurry of snowflakes from blowing into his home.

After setting aside the food in his kitchen for later, Grillby herds Sans into the living room where his fireplace burns with sorely-needed heat. He collapses into a chair while Sans warms his hands next to the fire. Grillby has a sudden, vivid mental image of Sans holding his hands out to Grillby to warm them, the bony phalanges clasped in his own, ungloved grip as he leans down to blow hotly against the tips of Sans’s fingers.

He blinks away the thought, startled at the intensity with which it flashes in his mind’s eye. Drawing the blanket tighter around his shoulders, he brings his legs up onto the chair and curls up to retain as much warmth as possible. Sans looks over at him and grins softly.

“Was wondering if you’d be interested in hearing another story.” He nods at the book he left on the seat of the other chair in the room. “It’s one that I read to Paps when he was a babybones, but I thought you might appreciate something that’s a little lighter to digest.”

Grillby nods. “ _Of course, I would love to hear you read. It’s always a pleasure, Sans._ ” And without fail, he can’t help but marvel at the thoughtfulness of his friend. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve the gift of having Sans in his life, but Grillby certainly cannot deny his appreciation. 

_"Thank you,_ ” he says, hoping to convey the tide of emotion in the words alone.

Sans’s eyelights grow just a fraction, a reaction Grillby has begun to equate with surprised delight. He hopes his guess is right because seeing Sans happy is a wonderful privilege that Grillby longs to witness every day. 

“Sure thing. ‘S no skin off my bones.”

It’s a joke Grillby has heard a thousand times, and yet, the laugh bubbles out of him. A cough quickly follows, and he muffles the disgusting noise into his blanket. Once he regains his breath, Grillby clears his throat and looks back over in time to catch the concern in Sans’s expression.

“ _Not to worry. I’m quite alright."_

Sans snorts. He walks over to his chair and picks up the book, plopping down into the seat a moment after.

“We both know that’s a load of crap, but I’ll refrain from getting into a heated argument.”

Grillby laughs again, covering his grin with his hand to stifle the urge to cough before it rises. He doesn’t say anything, choosing to let Sans have the last word as the skeleton winks at him and flips open the pages of the new book. Grillby settles into his chair and blanket, propping his head on his fist and fondly watching the other as Sans’s comforting voice reads the opening of yet another book to him.

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit..”

If this is a tradition Sans intends on keeping, Grillby has no qualms over letting Sans read the entire library to him. His soft enunciation of words lulls Grillby into a meditative state, drawing his mind away from the ache in his feverish body as his world diminishes to the simple space they share. To think this all started out of the kindness of Sans’s soul brings yet another wave of gratitude and affection to Grillby’s own core. How did he ever become so lucky? 

He doesn’t recall falling asleep, but when he wakes up hours later, the blanket is tucked as securely as possible around him, a pillow underneath the crook of his arm where he’d slumped over to cradle his head in his sleep.

There are supposed to be stars that can be seen on the surface even though they exist thousands of miles away. Grillby imagines that the intensity of such light might be fairly similar to how brightly his soul burns for Sans if were he to make such a comparison. He considers what Sans’s soul might look like and believes that such a sight would be greater and more stunning than any star.

Something inside of him tightens at the thought of seeing it one day. It leaves him in a state of admiration for the entirety of the week, a feeling that is renewed every afternoon when Sans visits him with the book in one arm and a plate of food balanced in the other, his grin soft and beautiful.

***

Grillby heals up soon enough, and shortly after that, they finish through another book together. Sans is glad to resume his usual spot on the bar stool the following week. It’s a familiarity that he can’t deny he missed, though the intimacy of reading to Grillby in his own home is not lost on Sans. That’s something he had also greatly enjoyed, and a part of him wonders if he’ll ever get the opportunity to read to Grillby again in the cozy space of his living room.

He hasn’t quite picked out a new book to read to him yet, but Sans is sure the elemental won’t mind. At least, he hopes he doesn’t. They’ve had days in the past when Sans took a break from reading, but those were usually times when Grillby was simply too busy manning the bar and serving customers their food to really spare a moment.

A slight well of anxiety pools inside his soul, but before it can develop into an overwhelming panic, Sans is startled out of his thoughts when a hand rests on his shoulder. He looks up and sees Grillby standing next to him, an inviting look on his face.

“ _If you wouldn’t mind humoring me, I have a proposition that I believe may interest you._ ”

Derailed from his internal conflict, Sans blinks at the bartender. He thinks Grillby might be waiting for a response, but the sensation of heat curling from the hand on his shoulder and seeping into his bones only brings a shuddering sigh out of his mouth. Grillby’s smile widens.

“ _My home has felt quite lonely without your company gracing it. I have a personal library of my own and would love to return the favor and share it with you._ ” A sly gleam appears in his eyes and the crook of his grin.

 _“That is, if you’ll have me...Sans._ ”

He doesn’t have a book to hide behind this time. Sans mentally curses the heat he can feel rising to his face, but he doesn’t look away or squirm under Grillby’s touch. 

“Yeah,” he manages to say, nodding. “I’d like that a lot.”

Grillby lightly squeezes him before letting go, his touch lingering as he slowly drags his hand off of Sans’s shoulder.

" _W_ _onderful. I’ll prepare dinner for us both. Six o’clock work for you?_ ”

Sans dumbly nods again. “Mhm, yep. Works just fine.”

Grillby’s flames lighten at the tips, a pretty color that draws Sans’s gaze. He leaves Sans to attend to his customers, but as he flits about the room, Sans finds himself unable to look away. It’s only moments before his break ends that he catches sight of his expression in the mirror along the back wall of the bar. His phalanges reach up and lightly rest along the giddy grin on his face. There’s not an ounce of insincerity in it.

Sans exits the bar in a kind of giddy daze that’s quickly become the standard for whenever he leaves Grillby’s. As he sets off on the path back to his station, his soul beats rapidly in anticipation for the evening. It continues to pulse even as his work resumes, and the warmth of Grillby’s touch on his shoulder lasts long into his shift.

He’s looking forward to hearing his friend read to him later that night.


End file.
